


(you were almost) A Leon Sandwich!

by acid rounds (cobwebcorner)



Series: Things We Don't Tell Chris [5]
Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Multi, Threesome - F/M/M, and a surprise guest - Freeform, this still takes place at Christmas but consider it a Valentine's Day fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-28 16:12:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17790587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cobwebcorner/pseuds/acid%20rounds
Summary: He was being indulgent, this holiday season. Work was at a lull, and his future proved to be very busy. He would have little time for indulgence later. Besides--the look on Leon's face made it all worth it.Leon, Ada, Wesker, and a hotel room. You can probably guess the rest.





	(you were almost) A Leon Sandwich!

**Author's Note:**

> People have been requesting that I continue the final scene from Mistletoe Epidemic ever since I posted it, so in honor of the success of RE 2 remake, I thought I'd finally do just that.
> 
> Really. Honestly. Would I lie to you?
> 
> Happy Valentine's Day!

_226, the keycard said. His heart pumped a little faster with every step towards that door. Would she really be there, this time? The keycard slipped in smoothly, and he opened the door._

_It was a smaller suite than the last one, just one room with a single king bed. Ada sat on the corner of the mattress, her legs folded, posed as if waiting for a photographer to take his shot. He wondered if she ever practiced these things in a mirror. It sure had the right effect._

“ _Hello, handsome.”_

“ _Ada.”_

_He strolled into the room, hardly paying attention as he tossed his coat on the nearest chair. The folder he placed with a little more care on the desk. The window blinds were already shut, and the radio was playing a vaguely celtic rendition of “What Child is This.”_

_She stood with a whisper of silk, and her smile melted him to the core. They'd spent the whole party catching up and having drinks. That cut a lot of the fat out of their usual hotel rendezvous._

_The door closed by itself behind him. Leon turned, and did a double take._

_Wesker had propped himself against the wall, his outstretched arm now barring the exit. His sunglasses were absent, the naked eyes glittering with dark promise. Leon swallowed._

_"Am I in trouble....?"_

_Wesker pushed off the wall and closed in. "That depends on your definition of 'trouble,'" he purred. His hands tugged at the hem of Leon’s shirt._

_A warm, soft body pressed against Leon’s back. He looked over his shoulder into Ada’s wicked smile._

_"I'm in trouble."_

* * *

It sounded like the start of some risque pulp novel--two double (sometimes triple, quadruple, or quintuple if Wesker felt like a challenge) agents corner a good American boy in a hotel room with dark promises of the evening’s activities, to distract him from a folder of secret intelligence files.

Except no one had any intention of stealing those files, and regardless of what Ada had planned, Wesker had full intention of satisfying Leon’s desires. Not that Ada looked to be going anywhere, if the way she had adhered herself to the young man’s back was any sign.

The look on Leon's face was everything he'd hoped for. The dramatic entrance had been worth it for Leon’s slack-jawed shock alone. He loved, too, the way trepidation and excitement mingled on the younger man’s face. It was a good look for him.

Wesker could not contain his smirk as he dipped forward to catch the other man’s mouth in a kiss. The silky fineness of Ada’s hair brushed his jaw as she bent in to mouth her way up the column of Leon’s throat. Leon made a wonderful little choking gasp sound at the double assault, arching between the pair of them.

It was a far superior way to spend Christmas than any nonsense involving pine trees, tired old carols, or ‘goodwill toward men.’

Leon’s arms wrapped around his shoulders, pressing him even deeper into the kiss. A rustle and thump of silk coaxed him to reopen his eyes and drew his attention behind Leon, to where Ada had just unclasped her dress and allowed the whole number to slide to the floor.

“Oh, don’t mind me,” she told him with an artful curve of her rouged mouth. Which was frankly a ridiculous statement, given she was standing there in nothing but her lacy black underthings, nearly every inch of her athletic body on display.

Wesker had always appreciated the hidden power in that body. She wasn’t thin in the way women who starved themselves in the name of ‘dieting’ were thin, but rather streamlined, with all the svelte and slinky musculature of a ferret. The dress gave her a falsely delicate air. Without it, if one only looked close, it was easier to believe that here was a woman who could kick you to the ground, backflip away, and then run off--all in high heels.

He could feel that Leon appreciated the sight as much as he did. The man turned around so his back was to Wesker’s chest and cleared his throat.

“It’s pretty cold in here. Why don’t you come over here and let us warm you up?” Leon said.

“Just a fair warning,” Wesker said, as he leaned in to wrap his arms around the smaller man and toy with the top button of Leon’s shirt, “if you start in with your awful sense of humor, I will dump you outside in the snow regardless of your state of dress.”

“I haven’t told a single pun yet,” Leon protested.

“Now, now, boys, isn’t it a little early in the evening for threats?” Ada slunk over to them and took charge of Leon’s buttons, unfastening them with graceful efficiency. She leaned in close to whisper in Leon’s ear (which Wesker overheard with ease), “that can wait until after the handcuffs come out.” She kissed the younger man’s ear and drew back a hair.

Wesker, content to simply hold Leon until that point, cupped Ada’s chin and held her still for a kiss over Leon’s shoulder. She tasted more strongly of egg nog than Leon, and the floral scent of her shampoo tickled his nose.

Ada’s kisses were deceptively soft, much like the rest of her. She never fought back for dominance the way Leon did. Instead, her motions were coaxing--lulling her partner into a false sense of security, drawing Wesker in deeper and deeper until even he forgot about her teeth. Right up until she embedded them in the soft flesh of his lower lip.

He gasped, the short, sharp pang of pain sizzling directly to his groin. She released him and drew back, her look coy. Wesker soothed his tongue over the bite, his eyes narrow but his mouth twisted in a reluctant smile. She knew just what he liked.

“Uh. Quick question,” Leon interjected, his eyes darting to Wesker before returning to Ada’s fingers and his own half-bared chest, “who’s going to be the meat in this sandwich?”

Wesker didn’t need to look at Ada to know they were both giving the man identical looks. “Who do you think?” he asked.

Leon flushed a handsome red color in response.

“Right. Stupid question,” Leon said.

The shirt had been unbuttoned, so Wesker lost no time stripping it off of Leon’s shoulders. It had surprised him, the first time he’d gotten a good look at Leon’s chest, just how many scars the man had collected. So many puckered circles of healed bullet wounds, long jagged lines from claws or perhaps shrapnel, little small scars in clusters--glass, he guessed. That this man was still alive seemed more and more like a minor miracle the more he got to know him.

And, at the same time, was not surprising at all. Naive or no, optimistic or no, Leon was wily enough to dupe Wesker out of victory not once but twice when his back was to the wall. It was a hard lesson to swallow, but he was learning not to underestimate the fragile human in his arms. It only strengthened his conviction to secure this man as an asset, rather than an enemy, no matter what it took.

Ada trailed her hands over Leon’s chest, her fingers lingering over the gunshot scars on his shoulder. Perhaps her thoughts were following the same track. She went in for a kiss, and Wesker took the opportunity to step back and pull his own turtleneck off.

“Shall we move this somewhere more comfortable?” Wesker murmured near Leon’s ear, his now bare chest pressed to Leon’s bare back. Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed Leon’s forearms and steered him irresistibly towards the bed. Ada came to his side and together the two of them shoved the agent down onto the mattress, where he bounced once and looked up at them like a particularly awestruck deer.

They followed him down, a pair of intent cobras--or, perhaps, a snake and a butterfly--descending on their prey. Wesker went for the throat, as was his instinct, only to have strong fingers seize a fistful of his hair and jerk his head to the side before his teeth could brush skin. Leon grinned at him apologetically.

“Sorry. Reflex.”

Wesker growled, grabbed the offending hand and pressed it into the mattress beside Leon’s head. Behind him, fabric rustled and clinked as Ada expediently removed one more clothing barrier from Leon’s body. A further rustle and a thump as she tossed Leon’s pants over her shoulder. Leon looked up into Wesker’s eyes and he smiled, a little devil-may-care, a little challenging.

“You going to do anything, or are you going to sit there and look menacing?” Leon asked.

“Oh, but that’s his favorite thing,” Ada remarked.

Leon made a choked little gasp, and no surprise, when Wesker twisted around to glance back he saw Ada pressing a hand teasingly close to the tent in Leon’s gray boxer-briefs.

“You should be more careful what you wish for,” Wesker said, and dipped in towards Leon’s throat once more.

And then a hail of bullets burst the windows in a deafening crash.

 

Wesker rolled off the bed at once to take cover behind it. Leon and Ada swiftly followed suit, all three pressing their backs to the sturdy wooden frame while mattress fluff and feathers spit up behind them. His two companions both appeared frazzled and equally irritated.

"I _HATE_ my life," Leon hissed. "So much."

“Whose are these?” Wesker snapped. To say that he was irritated by the sudden, violent interruption would be an understatement on the scale of calling the Atlantic Ocean a puddle. He was furious, and already visions of tearing the culprit’s head off and drop-kicking it into the street were dancing in his head.

“I can’t tell unless I see them,” Ada replied. Wesker had to admit, he also had multiple organizations that wanted him dead, though none should have known he would be in this area.

The gunfire paused. Wesker dared a glance over the mattress, squinted through the clouds of feathers drifting from the shot-up pillows to the balcony outside the shattered windows. He could make out 3 figures moving outside, their forms obscured by plates of black body armor. The red lenses of their gas masks caught the light leaking from the room and flashed like demon eyes in the dark.

“Professional. Mercenaries,” Wesker said after he ducked back down.

“I guess we’ll have to teach these party crashers a lesson.” Ada said. She pulled a handgun out from under the mattress. Wesker supposed he shouldn't be surprised that she had hidden weapons around. It was her hotel room, after all.

“Here.” Leon grabbed Wesker’s sweater from the floor and handed it to her, prompting a smile.

“Such a gentleman,” she praised, taking the garment and slipping it over her head without so much as a by your leave from the sweater’s original owner. It generously covered only a little less skin than her own dress had.

“We will give you one chance to surrender,” barked a voice from outside, deep and masculine, muffled lightly by the gas mask. Wesker knew that voice.

“It’s Hunk,” he informed the others in a low voice.

“A hunk...? How can you tell under all that body armor?”

“Hunk is a codename, Leon,” Ada said.

“A former agent of Umbrella’s security division,” Wesker said. “I wonder who he’s working for now.”

“It could still be Umbrella,” Ada pointed out.

“Umbrella’s been dismantled,” Leon said.

“Officially.”

“Are you serious? Jesus, they’re as tough to kill as the monsters they make.”

Hunk’s presence made Wesker—not nervous, a mere human wasn’t threat enough to make him nervous—wary, perhaps. Hunk was the only man in Umbrella’s whole private army who had half a brain, and that made him twice as dangerous as the rest of them. He also shared Leon’s talent for surviving impossible situations. However, unlike Leon, his company was neither charming nor useful.

They hadn’t got on well back in his security division days. Hunk was at least better company than Sergei, but then, so was a room full of lickers experiencing explosive diarrhea.

“Dammit. My pants are on the other side of the bed,” Leon said, interrupting that unpleasant musing. He was bent over awkwardly on his side with his head half-under the bed, limbs tucked close. This bed was too low to the ground for him to fit all the way underneath.

“You have ten seconds to come out with your hands up,” Hunk ordered.

“Forget the pants,” Wesker hissed.

“My gun’s in them!”

“Here.” Ada pulled a knife from somewhere under the sweater and handed it to Leon.

“Where were you--never mind. Guess I’ve made due with worse.” He sighed. “This is not how I imagined my Christmas going.”

"5 seconds," Hunk said.

“Fighting hired goons in your underwear?” Ada asked. “You should do it more often. It’s very distracting for the enemy.”

“Just the enemy?” Leon asked her with a knowing look.

“Stay focused,” Wesker scolded lightly. “I’m going to move our cover on the count of three.”

“Move it--how?”

“One. Two.” He braced his hands underneath the solid wood frame.

Leon scrambled up into a crouch while Ada remained as she was, both ready to spring at a moment’s notice.

“Three!” He hauled bed up by one side with ease and launched the piece of furniture out at the balcony, where it knocked loose the rest of the glass along with some of the wall and bowled over their attackers.

His companions both ran forward, taking positions against the wall next to the room’s new hole. Leon scooped up his pants as he ran, frantically digging through them for his handgun. Wesker followed the bed outside. It had landed face down on the balcony beside the railing, and was wiggling now as the men pinned beneath it attempted to lift the weight off themselves. Wesker hopped up on top of the bed, smirking at the grunts of pain the action caused.

“You should have thought your attack through a little more carefully,” he told them. “Now, who do you work for?”

He was answered by a bullet to his neck. The pain completely blinded him for several long seconds, and he staggered and fell to one knee, only narrowly avoiding a tumble down into the alley below. It was a clean hit, in one side and out the other, and over the explosion of pain he could already feel his flesh knitting back together. He canted his torso to one side, his free hand shoved into the wide, messy exit wound to stem the bleeding.

One man hung off the side of the balcony, his handgun still pointed Wesker’s direction. Hunk. He should have expected the man would be quick enough to jump off before the bed hit.

Hunk let off three more shots in quick succession, forcing Wesker to retreat back into the hotel room. Through the hole in the wall he could see the man pulling himself back up onto the balcony. The empty gaze of the mask turned his way, and Hunk raised a hand to his radio.

“B team, move in. There’s a BOW on the premises, repeat, BOW on the premises.”

Damn. Now they were bound to have half a dozen more goons bearing down on them. What an annoying waste of his time.

“Still up and kicking, are we? ‘Grim Reaper.’” Wesker called.

“Wesker,” Hunk greeted, tone flat.

“Is this any way to greet an old colleague?”

“You're not my colleague anymore.”

“And as boring as ever, I see.”

The door kicked open behind them, admitting half a dozen goons in the same armored uniform. Wesker’s eyes narrowed at the Umbrella logo on their guns. One of the men near the middle of the line startled at the sight of the three of them, his barrel dipping.

“W-woah. Uh. Are we interrupting something?” he said.

“You have no idea,” Leon replied bitterly.

“Focus, Nelson,” Hunk barked from the balcony.

“All of you--hands up! Drop your weapons!” shouted a different goon.

Ada and Leon very slowly moved to comply.

“Where’s the BOW?”

Wesker closed the distance between them in half a second, seized the man by the throat, and hoisted him in the air as easily as he would a scarecrow. “Right here,” he growled, and then threw the unlucky soldier into his comrades, knocking four of them over. That left two enemies behind him. He dodged left, avoiding the predictable spray of gunfire aimed for his back.

They were flies, really, these mercenaries, and he battered them down like flies.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Ada kick the weapon from Hunk's hands, which Leon followed up by grabbing the man and suplexing him. Wesker felt a sudden warm surge of affection for both of them. He did adore partners who could take care of themselves.

Someone landed several shots to his back while he was distracted. The bullets lodged in his rib cage and burned there like hot coals dipped in acid, forcing a yelp of pain from him. Anti-BOW rounds--the one thing he hated more than hollow points. It was especially galling knowing that he had helped design them by perfecting the formula for the special antiviral coating.

“Wesker?” Leon shouted in alarm.

Wesker growled, seized the gun from the hands of the man who had shot him, then hit him with it hard enough to bend the barrel and send the goon flying into the wall. He did not get up again.

Which left them with only one enemy left.

“And once more, only the Grim Reaper survives.”

“The god of death cannot die,” Hunk replied.

“Would you like to test that theory?” Ada asked, leveling her pistol at his head.

“I’m curious. Just how many teams have you lost by now?” Wesker asked.

“Unlike some people, I don’t keep score,” Hunk replied.

“At least when I got my team killed, it was on purpose,” Wesker said. Leon gave him a strange look, which he ignored.

“Their survival is not my responsibility,” Hunk responded, glacier calm and terse as always.

“What? Of course it is! You’re their captain, aren’t you?” There went Leon, being foolishly optimistic and gold-hearted again. One day he would have to learn.

“This is war. The mission objective is all that matters.” With these parting words, Hunk threw down a flashbang and ran. Wesker hissed, covering his sensitive eyes, too late. The damage was done. By the time he recovered his wits, Hunk had already made his escape out the window.

“I’m going after him,” he said, snatching a shirt from the floor--Leon’s, probably--and stuffing it on. It was too tight across the shoulders and wouldn’t button, but it covered the blood and bullet wounds from any curious passerby. He stabbed a stern finger at Leon and Ada, who were still blinking the stars out of their eyes. “We are continuing this later.”

“We damn well better,” Leon agreed.

“I’ll check my schedule,” Ada said.

Wesker nodded once and dashed off in hot pursuit of the fleeing mercenary.

* * *

Now alone in the room, Leon and Ada contemplated the destruction around them. It had started off as such a nice evening, too, Ada thought. Shame, really. She had to catch a plane to eastern europe early the next morning and she didn't know when she'd have a moment to be this indulgent again.

“And to all a good night,” Leon said, shaking his head at the small pile of bodies scattered over the floor.

“We should get out of here before the police arrive,” Ada said.

Leon picked her dress out of the debris, considered the silky fabric, then presented it to her. “Trade you?”

“Put your pants on and I’ll think about it.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Alternative title: Hunk Ruins Christmas
> 
> Sorry not sorry  
> My beta suggested this idea and it made me laugh too hard not to do  
> One day I swear they will get a legit threesome. Maybe. Probably.


End file.
